Thrice
by lieselmemingers
Summary: A history of cold love, by Mr Mellark.


This was written for the_** promptsofpanem**_ challenge, and the prompt was to write a fic concerning the Mellark family. I should warn there is some mild sexual content (adult with consent), and also some child abuse in there, so be aware of that.

* * *

**_Thrice_**

* * *

In twenty years of marriage, I've loved Lana three times.

The first was when she carried Fintan. Something happened to her in that first pregnancy; her mood changed, and her belly swelled so big that she'd waddle everywhere, and laugh at herself despite the hardship. She would stand at the bakery counter with her huge belly flush against the edge and reach her arms out in front of her, and smile with amusement at the fact that she could only just skim her fingertips across the mixing bowl in front of her. She was different.

When Finnie was born, she changed back to her old self.

She loved Finnie, in a gruff sort of way, constantly pushing him to achieve more, even during his early years.

We ambled along in the knowledge that we were settling for each other. Her childhood sweetheart died in the Games when she was fifteen, and the woman I'd hoped to marry loved someone else.

Fintan's light blonde hair darkened over time, and with Lana's distance came a respect. She had no affection for him, but she pushed him to succeed. No Mellark child would be a failure, she seemed to decide.

Lying in bed and resting a hand over her slack stomach, I tried night after night to love her. There were too many people in the bed between us; a fifteen year old boy, still screaming as a savage mutt tore his stomach out, and the woman across town in the bed of another, sweeping up coal dust at the end of a day.

I couldn't reach Lana; I couldn't feel her warmth. Just the cold of those we'd lost.

* * *

"This is the last one," Lana gasped out, squeezing my hand so hard it turned blue.

There were complications throughout the pregnancy, and she'd been hurting for most of it. Her ankles had swollen so much it pained her to walk, and it felt like such a blessing that the baby was coming early.

She gave birth after twenty hours of screaming pain, and little Rye was born, unusually quiet and wide-eyed, staring up at the world with such expectation that it pained me to think of the District he would have to grow up in.

The doctor told Lana it was likely that she wouldn't conceive again, and that was that. We congratulated ourselves on a family well delivered, and focused on the bakery. We didn't need to make love anymore. We didn't need to touch, or kiss.

We could be partners. We could survive.

* * *

It was a late night in the bakery when it happened; the second time I loved her was the night she came in wearing nothing but her underwear and a smile.

It was so rare, to see her smile. She didn't often scowl either; she was neutral. Functional.

"What are you doing?" I asked, surprised.

"I…I miss you."

I didn't think that was true, but I was too distracted by the swell of her post-natal breasts and the warm glow her skin had taken on from working on the garden outside. Her stomach was still slack, and she tried to cover it with her arms. That was the moment; right there. Seeing my wife made of steel try to hide her stomach from me, standing there in her best underwear and refusing to meet my gaze. I could see tears spring to her eyes, and the love came from somewhere unexpected.

She swallowed her resolve and made her move, pressing me against the counter.

"Do you like this?" she asked lowly, moved her hips jerkily against my own.

I'd never seen her when we did this; she'd only ever do it with the lights off, under the sheets. I'd always have to do all the work, and in general it was only when we were trying to get pregnant.

"Lana," I gasped out, and she looked proud for a second.

She made me lie down on the work surface, and rode me unsteadily until I finished. After, she covered her stomach with her arms again, and slipped off me clumsily, pulling her underwear back on.

"I…just wanted to try and be a better wife," she admitted quietly.

The love was gone before she left the room.

* * *

The third pregnancy came like a blow to the head. She sobbed at the idea of having to go through another, and I realised that it was the first time I'd seen her cry hard. After a long, long term, she gave birth to little Peeta, with a cry of relief so powerful it made the tiny baby cry too.

The midwife placed the little sun-haired boy at her breast, and she stared down at him with utter forgiveness, already enamoured with him.

He was the tiniest, and his tiny little fingers clutched at my thumb when I reached out a hand for him, but Lana prised him away so that his concentration could be all hers.

"Hi, Peetie," she cooed, hair wet with sweat. "You're my favourite little guy."

* * *

The third - and last- time I loved her, I found her in the bath by the fire. I'd seen her bathe before, but she never usually sat in to relax. It was all furious scrubbing and sloshing water. But she was so quiet it came as a surprise to find her there. Her hair was pulled up into a knot, and I could see the prominent ears that she always tried to hide. In the firelight, she looked somewhat attractive.

Peeta sat in the bath with her, playing with an old toy of Fin's. He ducked it in and out of the water, laughing in delight. His blonde hair was wet and so fine that it almost looked as though he had none. He was a chubby boy of eighteen months.

Lana sighed contentedly, and rested her chin against the top of his head, watching him play. She closed her eyes and rested so deeply; deeper that I'd ever seen. Even in sleep she was restless. But there, with her youngest baby, she had found some measure of peace.

"Pa-pa!" I smiled as Peeta reached out his chubby little fingers to me, and Lana's eyes snapped open.

Immediately, her eyes seemed to grow cold, and she bundled Peeta against her chest and tried to bring his attention back to her with an offer of milk. Peeta would have none of it, and turned his head restlessly, trying to find me again.

I perched myself on the edge of the bath, and held out a finger to him, ignoring Lana's icy glare. I took care not to look at her body in the clear water.

"I need to get out now," Lana said shortly. "Would you leave?"

"I can take Peeta," I offered, but she held him closer.

"I have him. He wants me," Lana protested.

* * *

From then on, nothing was the same. Fin and Rye craved the attention that Lana gave Peeta, and grew to resent her, and the new baby. They pinched him when her back was turned, and I tried – and failed – to keep order. Whenever Peeta's attention was otherwise occupied, she would grow sullen and gruff with him.

They were inseparable. I gave Fin and Rye the attention they needed; took them out to the meadow to play catch, helped them bathe, lay out their pyjamas. But with the bakery work, it was too much, and Lana refused to help bake, claiming that Peeta needed full time care.

As for Peeta, he didn't seem to enjoy the stifling love anymore. He longed to crawl, but she wouldn't let him down from her arms. I snuck in practice when she was away, but it was rare. Peeta loved it, and eventually began to walk on fat little legs, a little behind schedule, but he learnt quickly enough.

Sometimes I'm glad of what happened next. Sometimes I wonder what Peeta would have been without it.

It was a snow-swept winter's afternoon, and Lana was out buying flour. There was a knock on the door. Waiting outside was a lovely blonde woman, wrapped up in an old coat. Her face was clean and pale, but she looked tired. Nina Everdeen.

"Don," she greeted warmly, and held out a package for me. "I heard you've got a little one, too. Mine's got too big for these night clothes, but she's growing faster than any baby I've seen. They might still fit yours."

"Thanks," I said, dumbstruck. "Come in."

Nina walked in with a gentle smile on her face, looking around the room quizzically. She gasped at the sight of Peeta and lifted him up into her arms, tickling his cheek with a gentle finger. Peeta laughed with delight and turned his face into her neck.

"He likes you," I remarked, feeling too shy to say anything more.

"Mine doesn't seem to like anyone," Nina joked. I smiled.

Something was bubbling up inside me; an old love that I'd chained down. She was so beautiful, and so fresh.

Lana came home, and the room fell cold and quiet. Even Peeta seemed to be struck by uncharacteristic silence. Lana stopped in the doorway, the snow swirling around her, her eyes fixed on little Peeta in Nina Everdeen's arms.

"Get out," she said.

"I…I just stopped by to drop off these baby clothes for Peeta," Nina tried to explain, but Lana was already across the room, taking chubby little Peeta from her arms.

"I said, get out!" Lana snapped, and stormed into the bakery, slamming the door behind her.

Nina left with shame in her eyes, and from then on I hated Lana. I hated her with fire, and passion. But something else changed too; she wouldn't love Peeta anymore. Something in her seemed to jolt at the sight of him so happy in Nina Everdeen's arms, and she only did what was necessary for him, and with none of the cuddles or kisses from before. Peeta hated it, and cried constantly, reaching out his arms for his mother, but he was met with nothing but silence.

I had to make up for it. Lana spent a lot of time with Rye, who was growing slyer and more mischievous day by day, reinforced by Lana's sudden approval of him. Fin grew independent as he started school, and was always quiet but determined and strong. He began helping in the bakery as soon as he was old enough.

Peeta's wide blue eyes spoke of sadness. He didn't understand; how could I expect him to, when even I didn't?

* * *

"I'm a huge tower from the Capitol," Peeta announced, sitting astride my shoulders, his small hands fisted in the hair on my head. I thought for a moment that it might come out; I'd been finding more and more hair on my pillow every morning, but I didn't say anything. "I'm a big grown up coal miner. When will I be tall, papa?"

"Well, Peeta," I said, winding my way through the crowded marketplace in search of butter and eggs, "You know, I'm average height, so I'm not that tall. And your mother's very tiny, so you might not be all that tall even when you're a man."

Peeta seemed to grow quiet at this, and I wished that I'd lied to him.

* * *

After his first day of school, Peeta ran through the bakery door on excited legs, and Lana almost gave a rare smile.

"I know a girl! _A girl_! I've seen a girl, papa!"

I chuckled. "Most little boys aren't so eager to know girls, Peet," I told him, my smile wide.

"Girls are nice," he said, firmly, and my laughter grew deeper as Rye pretended to vomit on the floor behind Peeta.

Peeta started to jump up and down on the spot, his blonde curls flying. Lana wiped her hands on her apron and crouched down. I thought she was going to wrap her arms around him, but instead she held him still by the shoulders, and slapped him smartly across the face.

Peeta stared at her, his eyes wide with betrayal. My rolling pin clattered against the wooden surface, and the other boys stopped too, too stunned to say or do anything. A red mark bloomed on Peeta's cheek, and he squirmed against Lana in discomfort.

"Don't be so ridiculous," Lana snapped. "Now, grab an apron and sort these sprinkles into colours."

* * *

Doing nothing is easy. Like sitting still.

From then on, I tried and failed to stop Lana's outbursts. She was too quick, and it would come from out of the blue. Peeta would drop and fork at dinner and she'd put him over her knee and spank him until he cried. I'd stop her too late, and Peeta wouldn't be able to sit down properly for days.

More than once, I grabbed the rolling pin from out of her hands before she could smack him with it, she found a window of opportunity, and when Peeta iced a cake green instead of red, at the tender age of eight he received a blow from the unforgiving wood.

She would always excuse herself after, and sometimes I followed her, but never found the courage to walk inside. I was a coward, through and through.

After the rolling pin, though, something had to be done. I made Fin watch the shop and crept up the stairs after her. Through the crack in the door I could see her staring blankly at the wall opposite, tears streaming down her face, a pillow clutched to her chest.

When she saw me, she grabbed me and dragged me over to the bed, her eyes wild.

"Let's try for another one," she whispered, trying to unbuckle my pants.

"No!" I protested, and shoved her off me with so much force she almost fell off the bed. "No, Lana. Just sort yourself out and get back downstairs. It's a busy day."

I thought I heard her start to cry when I left the room, but perhaps I was imagining it.

* * *

"Peeta likes Katniss Everdeen!"

I felt my fist tighten a little, and swallowed the urge to grab Lana and keep her away from Peeta. Peeta was ten, and the tips of his ears were stained red as he worked on his cupcakes. His hand shook a little, and he cast a frightened glance towards his mother. Lana had frozen.

Rye piped up again, and I resisted the urge to gag his smart-ass mouth. "He loves her! He told me so."

Fin said nothing, but seemed poised to break up a fight should there be one.

Somehow, Lana's quiet fury was the worst. She walked up the Peeta slowly, and he was already flinching, eyeing the rolling pin in her hand, visibly wondering whether having a crush on Katniss Everdeen was a big enough offence to warrant a beating.

Lana pointed the rolling pin in his direction, the tip inches from his nose. "If I ever see you with a Seam girl, you won't be welcome in this house any more. The same goes for all of you. I brought you up with discipline. I bought you up with standards. The Everdeen girl isn't for you, understand?"

Peeta nodded, and everyone went back to their business.

* * *

I wonder, sometimes, if Peeta remembers those early days when he could do no wrong in his mother's eyes. I wonder if he knows the true reason why she takes out her anger on him; the depth of her longing for love. The same reason, I think, that she hates me. Rye doesn't seem to have any adoration in him to give, and Fin is such an island that it's impossible to reach him.

We have a screen in the bakery, and Lana spends most of her time with her eyes glued to it, working sightlessly on idle tasks. She snaps whenever anyone speaks to her. When Peeta takes a sword to the leg, I can almost hear her heart splinter. I feel that spark again; like I could love her for a moment, but I don't. I wonder if she's thinking of watching him play in the bath, and the soft blonde baby hair on the top of his head, and the wide eyes that had loved her so unconditionally. I think she knows that their destruction was of her own doing.

When Katniss Everdeen kisses Peeta in the mud, Lana's hand flies up to her mouth.

"He looks so…brave," she whispers, to no one in particular. I walk over to her, fighting back tears of grief, and place a warm hand on her bony shoulder.

The sun sets on another day, and the Mellark family bakery knows as much love as it ever will.


End file.
